


The Coldest Hello to the Warmest Goodbye

by Ember_Eyes_are_for_Tigers



Series: In a Crowd of Thousands of Masks [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst and Humor, Cornelius walks in at the worst times ever, Everyone Is Gay, Gunshot Wounds, I regret giving Sal such a long name, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romantic Fluff, Soft especially at the end, Trans Male Character, What's Emotional Vulnerability?, because Sal is trans, like it's canon ya'll, never heard of her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23769331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember_Eyes_are_for_Tigers/pseuds/Ember_Eyes_are_for_Tigers
Summary: “I found you countless times making out with some random guy when you really shouldn't have been.”“Those were mostly for distractions, it was literally my job . For you, though, it so wasn’t. You seduced that woman and, I swear, if I didn’t have to take you away you were probably going to-”- From Each Touch a Tender Word to my HeartWhere it's revealed that making out with some random guy might not be as much of his job description as Sal let everyone to believe.
Relationships: Cornelius | James & Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals, Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals & Delearys of Aderyn, Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals & Faerryn Stamen Limu, Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals/Alye Crysalker, background Faerryn Stamen Limu/Nismyl Saurflayer
Series: In a Crowd of Thousands of Masks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712350
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4





	The Coldest Hello to the Warmest Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Cornelius, Delearys, Faerryn and Machelle aren't my characters, they're my friends' OCs and characters they play in the D&D campaign I DM in, and also the one in which I play the handsome, annoying Bard Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion of Musicals (who is trans and gay and has a huge crush on this Alye guy, who is an ex officer of the militia that- y'know, it's complicated)
> 
> Anyway, this is for my Spy au. It takes after Each Touch a Tender Word to my Heart and it's about my boy Sal  
> My friend Andreas leped me beta this, so, thank you once more, my dude <3
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Alchol, (mentioned) blood, guns, wounds
> 
> Remember to leave a comment <3

It wasn’t supposed to become a tradition.

And, to be completely honest Sal didn’t even know how it could have happened. Spies usually didn’t have traditions, they were quick on their feet and too easy to forget. They wore different masks every day, every mission, and you couldn’t expect to have something that could fit with every single one of them.

However, that never seemed to stop the human man from finding him nearly every time, forging a weird tradition between just the two of them. 

At times, it was Sal who found him, and at other times he was already waiting for him, taunting him quietly with his presence. But, no matter where they met it never seems to end how Sal had intended.

They met on one unremarkable night, where your breath would condense and the stars were hidden behind the clouds. Sal had ended up pressing the other to a wall and kissing him, trying to distract him from his team’s endeavours. The first of many times. 

Although, once the other, that had presented himself as Robbie, had realised what was happening he slipped from his arms. He began running towards the cause of the explosion, however, before he did, he stopped.

“I hope I’ll see you again.”

“Don’t count on it too much, pretty face.” 

And, then,  _ Robbie _ had run off.

In that moment Sal didn’t realise that the quick exchange would turn out to become a promise he would hold dear.

It wasn’t apparent from the beginning.

Days and nights, mostly filled with coffee and reading files, went by, and soon the night got pushed aside, half forgotten with all the missions that began getting assigned to him and his team. 

Surprisingly, though, the missions didn’t only mean a higher income, it also meant, for Sal, to become better acquaintances with a particular pretty face. 

The more they met Sal found himself quietly wishing for their next mission, where hopefully he would follow. But, the more the flame of wishful thinking grew, the more he tried to stifle it.

By the fifth time they met each other, they had both already gone by countless different names. Which Sal always tried to research, trying to unveil more about the man. The results varied.

From names that gave to nothing and no one, to full blown secret covers that revealed a bit more about who hid behind them. But, still, not quite enough to take away that thick fog of mystery that coated him, protecting him from the dangers of his job.

Sal would never admit it, but it made him alluring in some way. Making him wonder wishfully about their next encounter. Only for a new name, some new information to discover who this man truly was, of course.

It was a game. And, part of him hoped it would never come to an end.

* * *

The night was dragging itself slowly for Sal, whose current job was to stand still protecting an object and not to be downstairs, during the actual meeting. 

Instead, Faerryn was the one sat at the table, probably hands shaking under the table as Delearys and Machelle tried to help her through their comms. 

It still didn’t sound fair that she was the one trading with those criminals. It was known that she wasn’t the most charismatic between them all and that the mission required tact and absolute perfection. However, it was also true that if the other side of the table was full of mixed blood hating bastards they had to adapt.

So, there he was, stuck looking after a box, alone.

There wasn’t even Delearys that he could talk with, as she was waiting outside for the exchange to finish. And, the communication device in his ear was currently being used to help Faerryn during the process of the transaction, which was honestly just as boring as standing in a room with nothing to-

The door in front of him creaked open and, before the figure could slip into the room, Sal already had a gun pointed at it. Every muscle tense, waiting.

Sal didn’t gasp when he saw who it was, but, despite everything, found himself relaxing ever so slightly- although, kept maintaining the weapon raised.

Dirty blonde hair pulled up in a tiny ponytail, tight black clothes that complimented his muscled build and holding a gun.

His eyes grew wide and Sal let him sheath his gun, following suit soon after.

“What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m looking after the box, pretty face.”

Sal crossed his arms in front of his chest, smirking as he observed the other. 

He was clearly surprised by him being there, must not have done well with his research this time.

But, other than that, Sal let himself drink in the broad shoulders and the tight clothes, coming to the conclusion that this might be his favourite choice of clothes on the other. Although, the yellow neon tank top he had once worn on the beaches of Tehona, was a close second. 

“Ah. So, I’ll need to fight you to get to what the box is currently holding?” He took a step towards Sal, who just kept on smirking.

“I guess so, pretty face.”

Another step.

“And, will you continue calling me pretty face? It’s hard to concentrate on my job, I’m finding it rather distracting,” three more steps towards him. Only five more steps missed to reach him, and, Sal, for some unfathomable reason, could already feel his heartbeat begin pounding against his ribcage. 

This was just a game, nothing more, nothing less.

And, yet a part of Sal craved for it to be more. Hoped that there was sentiment behind those words and not just a job that had to get fulfilled or a game between the two.

“I could continue calling you a pretty face, or I could call you by your name. But, since you find it so distracting, pretty face, I think I will stick to it.”

He stopped. Only two more steps.

They were so close and yet not close enough, and Sal had to control his very body to not be the one who stepped closer. He couldn’t move from his position, even though the voices in his earpiece told him to do otherwise, that he had to apprehend the other  _ immediately _ .

So, he observed him.

The stranger, whose name he did not know, but already shared a history with. The stranger, who always found him no matter what and that, for some wild reason, Sal wasn’t ready to understand, made his knees weak.

And, yet, even if he usually never stopped, always came to him, those words had stopped him, forcing him to look pensive, even for just a fraction of a second. But, a fraction of a second, in their line of job, could change the lives of countless people.

A step. Another one. 

And, Sal found himself with lips brushing against his and his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Or, maybe it was-

“Alye… Alye Crysalker.”

“Nice name,” managed to gasp Sal.

It was just anything cover like any other, but the expression that crossed his eyes, made him realise that maybe it wasn’t.

But, before he could give another answer, or ask what it truly meant, he,  _ Alye _ , was kissing him, engulfing him in his arms. As warmth came crashing against him, comfortable and safe, he realised that he was cold. 

Something deep in his bones sighed in relief as Sal didn’t waste any time in kissing back, hands pressing against the other’s back, feeling the muscles beneath them and tracking Alye’s every movement. He couldn’t let him, or anyone else next to the box, not until the exchange was terminated.

But, Alye was stubborn and smart, which was incredibly dangerous. And, danger often meant  _ very _ entertaining.

In his earpiece Machelle was groaning, probably wishing she could throw the earpiece away and forget everything, while Delearys just grumbled:

“Disgusting, try and be more quiet. The transaction has nearly finished, keep your boyfriend occupied for a couple seconds more. Cornelius, go give those two… go help Sal.”

“ _ Ew _ . Do I have to?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

_ He’s not my boyfriend,  _ he desperately wanted to retort, but, as Alye had his lower lip between his teeth he could only let out a deep growl. Although, might have sounded more like a moan.

He leaned down to Alye’s ear and murmured:

“You know I can’t let you near it, sugarplum.”

In an even sweeter tone, Alye whispered back:

“Too bad, I am still going to try, though.”

A chuckle bubbled in Sal’s throat, and he quickly drowned it in another kiss. This one slower, tasting every second between them, and Sal found himself, not for the first time, to want to remain in his arms. Or, to even just remain next to him, for as long as he could.

There was a burning desire, one that Sal tried to forget and to drown with bitter memories and promises made in dark times, that seemed to grow each time they saw each other. It wasn’t a fire that devastated everything, burning everything to the ground.

But, Sal was terrified the fire would end up destroying him. Like it already had.

Not that such worries should even cross his mind. This was just a game, right?

“‘Sup.”

One of Alye’s hands had found itself in Sal’s dark and wild hair, a low blow as it was near impossible to not melt into the seemingly so-loving touch, while the other hand was situated on Sal’s lower back, holding him closer to him with an impossible soft touch. Everything about how the other held him was tender, in such a way that it often fooled Sal into believing they were out of love. 

Which they  _ weren’t supposed to _ .

Alye’s lips were soft and were like a song that called for his name, but Cornelius was watching, and he probably didn’t approve of Sal making out with an enemy. Although, he was a weird kid, so, who the hell knew what went through his mind.

The kiss ended rather unceremoniously, and with such Sal dropped his arms to his side and returned to looking as bored as he could muster. 

“Hey.”

“Uh, I must go.” 

Sal’s gaze shot to Alye, who was  _ actually _ blushing and looking as awkward as ever.

“Please don’t go! You must be Sa- Sa _muel_ ’s boyfriend!”

Between the terrible name, that wasn’t even his current cover, and the insinuation that the hot spy in tight close next to him was his boyfriend, Sal had the sudden urge to throw Cornelius out of the window. Which became harder to suppress, especially when Alye looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

_ This was going to be the death of him. The death of Sal Devon Archibald Van Dolion- _

“ _ No _ , we’re not  _ husbands _ , not  _ boyfriends _ ! Not even friends! We’re  _ strangers _ . I don’t even know his  _ name _ , which is something strangers usually  _ at least _ know-“

“Actually, you do know my name.”

The words were quiet, but they were enough for something in Sal’s mind to click.

“Oh.”

“Oh? What does that mean? Why- what is happening?” asked Cornelius relentlessly as he and  _ Alye  _ watched him standing, looking in the midst of an existential crisis.

“ _ Oh _ .”

“Do you understand what’s going on?” 

“Not particularly, does he often stand in the middle of a room as if he were trying to resolve a math equation,” whispered back Alye, and his gaze, fixated on Sal, was enough to break free from the spiral of thoughts he had fallen into.

“Nope, but-”

“Okay, both of you are  _ out _ of here.  _ You _ ,” he pointed at Cornelius, “get out of the window you came from and disappear from my view.”

As Sal turned towards Alye, already dreading what he was about to do, he saw with the corner of his eye Cornelius do a mock salute and climbing back out of the window. 

He, carefully, took out his earpiece, placing it in the back pocket of his pants, and hoping that his team wouldn’t hear what he was about to do.

“You must go too, y’know?”

“I’d gathered that…”

“Without the box and,”  _ without me _ , “just… you.”

“I’d gathered that too.”

He,  _ Alye _ , chuckled and Sal only wanted to push him against a wall and make out with him some more. But, he didn’t.

Instead he hooked his arm with the other, taking him to the door. Slowly. So, that he wouldn’t try and grab the box, no ulterior motive.

“I really hope not getting the box won’t be too much of a problem, but, it’s work and not even a pretty face like yours can make me mess up.”

“Don’t worry I’ll just have to resort to stealing it from its next owner.”

Sal opened the door for him, and Alye stepped through the door frame, slipping away from him. 

_ Please let this not be the last time. _

“Oh? A thief are we?”

“And much more if you so desire.”

Sal nearly laughed at that, but, he maintained a straight face and leaned closer, his lips brushing Alye’s, and in a quivering voice he mustered:

“Sal.”

“That’s it?”

“There’s only one like me,” and with that quick murmur, he found himself leaning away, cold air taking the space where there was once the other. However, before he managed to close the door, Alye whispered:

“See you next time,  _ Sal _ .”

“Don’t count on it too much,  _ Alye _ .”

The door closed between the two of them. His heart was thrumming as the reality of what he had just done crashed against him at full force, like a wave in a thunderstorm.

* * *

Three hours later he finally returned back to his shared apartment in the dead of the night. As Delearys walked to the kitchen to prepare for herself a warm mug of milk and honey, Sal let himself crumble on his soft bed.

History repeated itself, and he couldn’t believe he let it happen once more. 

* * *

The next day Sal found himself in front of his computer, bored out of his mind and ignoring whatever Cornelius was talking about. Something about being able to juggle knives, which Sal was only mildly interested in seeing him fail at.

A thought, a memory, to be more precise, crossed his path. A face that wouldn’t let him rest, relentlessly reappearing in his thoughts.

Taking a sip of his ice coffee, he typed a name, the result was near immediate:

**Alye Crysalker**

Human

20/09/4470 - currently alive (34 years old in the current date of 4504 a.m.)

  1. I. E. L. E. D. Agent (Merrowport International Espionage and Law-Enforcement Division)



[Criminal Record Not Available at your Security Level]

His eyebrows furrowed, placing his ice coffee on the desk and leaning heavily in his seat.

A sigh escaped his lips, before he returned to the keyboard and waited for the result. He might have just broken a couple of laws by searching through information at which he hadn’t access to, however, it was nothing that Oak Owen wouldn’t close an eye for.

[Currently residing in Heathwood, Ulavla Street 312]

He leaned back into his chair, eyes shut.

Newsprings and Heathwood were barely an hour away from each other. It could be so easy to take a car from the garage or public transport and present himself at the door of his apartment. Maybe with some flowers.

Which would be creepy and more terrifying than finding himself surrounded by enemies with guns pointed at him. 

“No.”

Sal’s screwed open, finding Delearys who was looking at him pointedly from down the long desk they were all seated at. 

Somehow he hadn’t realised that both Cornelius and Machelle had left the room, leaving him with only Delearys and Faerryn. Both of which were looking at him as he was about to make the worst decision in his life.

Which he might as well have been about to make.

“What?”

“No. To whatever you’re thinking; no, don’t do it,” retorted Delearys, her gaze returning back to her computer.

“Is everything alright? You look… bad.”

“I look spectacular, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He is an annoying prick like usual, so seems pretty normal to me,” commented Delearys, receiving a glare from him. 

Silence fell in the room, the only sound being the keyboard Delearys was tapping on. 

“You still haven’t answered my question,” tried once again Faerryn, eyes now feeling like daggers cutting through him.

“I did. I look and feel spectacular-“

“Merciful El Roè, how are you so bad at lying? It’s your job!” Snapped Delearys, although there was no real malice in her words, before dropping her head on the keyboard in defeat.

“What? I am a great-“

“She  _ is  _ right, though. And, if you’re truly lying badly on purpose then you won’t fuss too much when you hear my plan on how the three of us are going to spend our evening!”

* * *

Despite both his and Delearys protests, they both found themselves in the livingroom of their shared apartment. He had no idea how Faerryn had found so much alcohol, but, it now laid on the coffee table in front of them, and she was grinning from the sofa, legs crossed.

“Ah. So, this must be how teenagers feel,” commented Delearys taking a swing straight from a bottle.

She was seated on the floor, her back to the sofa and a critical eye for all the alcohol in front of her.

“Does Nismyl know you’re here?”

“Oh yeah, besides she’s currently out of the city, she’s been following this businessman-“ Faerryn continued talking, her voice becoming a soothing background noise to his thoughts.

Maybe the alcohol was working because his thoughts became hazy, without any beginning or end just a fog of thoughts and sensations. Everything ruled by one single person.

It was kinda scary how much a person could hold so much sway over his emotions, especially one that had held his name secret for so many years. Someone who was clearly untrustworthy, but, that Sal found himself trusting. And, that realisation, the trap he had once again fallen for, was more terrifying than the simultaneous realisation that he could so easily find himself falling for Alye.

If he hadn’t already.

“-you okay? You look like you just ate a frog,” Faerryn’s words were followed by Delearys snickering beneath her hand. 

“Frogs aren’t in my area of worry… or, at least, not at the moment. They might become… if they grow in size and grow teeth, that is.”

“I approve. We’ll throw them, or yeet them, out of the window,” added Delearys, nodding, hair falling loose from her braid.

“If it isn’t frogs, then what’s worrying you?”

“Boys.”

“Of course.”

“We’re in hell, Faer, and you brought me here.  _ Against my own will! _ ” grunted Delearys, taking another swing of the content of the bottle before discovering that it was empty, and placing it on the coffee table with a sorrowful expression on her face.

“Okay, but, the real question is: romance problems or I really want to kill this annoying guy?”

“Please be kill annoying guys, please be annoying guys, please be kill annoying guys, please be-“

He took one of the cushions, purple and so soft, muffling a scream in it.

“Yes.”

“Y- what?” 

“I- It could be the second option if things go southward, otherwise it’s… avoiding feelings and avoiding seeing him ever again? Possibly?”

“You do realise that the answer you just gave raises more questions?”

Sal returned to unraveling his feelings into screaming form into a cushion.

“So… Do we get to kill this guys or not?” Delearys asked quietly, at which Faerryn shook her head.

“Usually, if someone has love problems they would go to you. I mean, the rest of us are really bad at heart stuff and-“

“And you  _ still _ didn’t come to me when you met Nismyl!”

“Well, yeah? That was- you would have just told me to make out with her or something like that.”

_ “I would have not _ . I would have said:  _ hey, maybe you could search for her name in the list of the guests _ and then you could decide if you wanted to call her or leave it to that.”

“Huh, that’s actually smart.”

“Thanks. I know,” Sal answered cooly, still hiding his face in the cushion and hoping that the sofa would swallow him whole.

“Hey, you know what you could do? You could follow your own advice!”

A groan escaped from Sal’s lips.

“I’ll take that as a… no?”

“I already did,” he sighed, turning to stare at the ceiling of the apartment, “and I found him. I know who he is, but, what if he turns out to be another Gelyn?”

“ _ Hey _ , that’s my cousins you’re talking about!” exclaimed Delearys, although she was resting her head on her hand, as if trying not to snooze off.

“Yeah, and he’s a fucking asshole.”

“Touché,” she mumbled in response, head falling on the coffee table.

A couple of seconds of silence fell in the apartment, the only noise being the traffic outside, as both Faerryn and Sal, who had gotten himself in a sitting position, observed Delearys with anticipation. Until a snore escaped from her lips, interrupting the quiet.

“So, she really can’t hold her alcohol, huh?” commented Sal, who had gotten up and was beginning to pick up the woman.

“She did drink an entire bottle of dwarven vodka,” added Faerryn quietly, as she followed.

“Tsk. Can’t even hold her dwarven vodka,” he joked, while trying to, as carefully as he could manage, to tuck her in bed.

“It’s cute how sweet you are, under all that “I’m too spectacular to feel anything” shit.”

“No, I’m not. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sal whispered back, beginning to back away and out of the room, “as I am, in fact, too spectacular to feel anything.”

“If that helps you sleep better at night!”

Sal shot her a glare, although clearly insincere, making Faerryn break out in quiet laughter.

“But, seriously, about before: find him and talk, or kiss or  _ whatever _ . The thing is that if you don’t ever try, if you never shoot for the stars, then, you will never find the moon,” tried explaining Faerryn, slumping on the couch, her hair floating around her in a near menacing way.

Sal didn’t follow suit, beginning to free the coffee table and sneaking some of the bottles that weren’t yet finished. He doubted Faerryn would mind if he kept some dwarven vodka, and besides, it was nice to have something stronger than Elven wine in the apartment.

At her words, though, he stopped, raising an eyebrow:

“You do realise that doesn’t make any-“

“Yes, yes it does. I found it in a poetry book-“

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a poetry person.”

“I’m not, I found it in one of Nismyl’s poetry books, she has really good taste in poetry by the way. But, it’s true. You should risk it, risk that your heart gets broken, that he never really liked you, that-“

“Sounds dangerous.”

Faerryn wrinkled her nose, “Yeah, I guess it is. But, isn’t that what we do? We face dangerous situations, we nearly die a hundred times and sometimes we do, but we always live to tell the tale.”

“Fair enough,” answered Sal, finally sitting back down and taking a sip of what he had been drinking. The name of the drink had been in another language, dwarven maybe, but, it had been surprisingly good.

“The guest room is already ready, by the way.”

“Oh,  _ thank goodness _ ,” exclaimed Faerryn, quickly peeling herself away from the couch and making a beeline for the guest room. 

Sal remained alone, thoughts taking over his mind once more.

_ Maybe what Faerryn had just said was right. Maybe he did just have to try and hope for the best _ .

He finished his glass, placing it in the sink, before walking to the bathroom. There was a quiet void following him around, as if he already knew that he wouldn’t be following Faerryn’s advice.

And, maybe, he did know.

* * *

Days passed, the address burning in his mind, although he never picked up his phone and never made a sign of wanting to, and soon they got sent on a mission.

They had to follow and murder an Elven man who was going to sell weapons enhanced by magic to the wrong people, or something of the sort. The details about the mission had been forgotten the very moment Oak Owen told them about it. 

The mission came and went in a flurry.

It wasn’t hard, especially since Faerryn wanted to try a new poison of hers. They only needed the right distraction at the right moment.

However, Sal had ended up having to create numerous distractions to let Machelle sneak in. And, when they discovered that the familiar face he had been quietly wishing for wasn’t there, he resigned himself to going on a far more violent route than usual.

Weeks began slowly creeping into months, and Sal couldn’t help himself, but believe that he had just imagined Alye. An intricate and sweet as honey dream that he had let evaporate before him, because he wasn’t brave enough. What could he say? He was a coward, and had always known thus far.

* * *

“Sal, everything alright?”

“Hm?” the man in question turned towards Delearys, she wasn’t one to freely display her emotions, that much Sal could relate too, but, it was clear in her voice that there was something worrying her. Or, maybe, Faerryn and Cornelius had asked her to, “Uh- yeah, yeah. I just zoned out.”

“You’ve been doing that an awful lot lately,”

The van they found themselves in, a dark place that barely had space to move, seemed to become smaller. As a heavy weight placed itself on his chest, and his throat clenched as his mind supplied him with a memory.

He pushed down the memory of what could now be called their last kiss and, in a tight voice, he answered:

“Just want to end this job as soon as possible, this place is giving me claustrophobia.”

Delearys nodded solemnly, and Sal had to divert his gaze from her brilliant green stare as she placed her hand on his shoulder, “I get it.”

Sal really,  _ desperately _ , wanted to dig himself a hole in the ground and stay there forever.

Instead, Faerryn opened the doors of the van, letting the two step out in the cold air.

They found themselves in a graveyard and he wasn’t surprised. Exchanges of this sort always happened in graveyards, probably to signify that if you didn’t follow the rules set you would end up six feet under the ground.

He didn’t particularly agree or appreciate the symbolism, especially when graveyards had always been way too morbid for his personal liking. But, he also had to admit that it gave some sort of creepy edge to the whole affair.

Faerryn nodded at them, closed the door behind them and returned in front of the steering wheel, waiting for the next step of the operation. 

Sal breathed deeply the cold air, bracing himself for the encounter and after sharing one quick glance with Delearys, the two began walking.

The two of them, shrouded in black heavy coats and, in Delearys’ case, a thick scarf, made their way through the white desert covered in snow. 

Silence reigned, the grey temple revered by some deity stood out against the starch grey of the sky and the bright white snow that seemed to cover every surface around them. 

He got the impression that he heard Delearys murmuring some prayer under her breath, but, when he turned she was walking by his side, her green eyes fierce with determination. For just a moment, he didn’t know if he shivered from the cold or from the sensation that seemed to coat the air heavily that something was amiss.

They stopped, air crackling with electricity around them.

He should have known the mission was about to go south the moment when the two figures they were about to meet appeared out of thin air, probably having used a teleportation spell of some kind. Something that wasn’t in the agreement they had made.

“Hello,” Delearys, polite as ever.

“Are you armed?” asked Sal, eyeing the two figures in front of him.

They were both shady figures, an aasimar with quartz-like skin and red eyes and an elf with hair so long it could usually have rivaled his own. If he hadn’t been forced to cut it, that is. Now it rested short, around his ears, leaving a bare spot on his neck that the rush of cold air made it seem like his most vulnerable spot at that moment.

“No. You?”

At least the aasimar went straight to the point.

“Of course not,” answered Sal, observing the two. The aasimar nodded, but the elf remained stoic. 

That was never a good sign, he knew that from experience.

“Where’s the palimpsest?” 

Delearys tapped her fingers against the briefcase she was carrying and Sal offered a wolvish smirk.

“Where’s the staff?”

At his words in the elf’s hands a staff appeared. White birch, slim, it’s end twisting around a floating orb. Even from such a distance Sal could feel it’s power thrumming in his blood.

That should have been the second sign that something was amiss.

Delearys nodded to the elf and, in synch, the both took four steps in the snow before placing the objects in the ground. Then, they both continued walking.

She took two steps closer to the staff.

Four steps. The white of the birch seemed paler than the snow surrounding it.

Six steps. She was so close to it. Sal could feel every muscle in his body tense, ready to sprint with Delearys in tow.

Eight steps. It happened all too fast and all too slow. 

The elf had the briefcase in his right hand, his left hand on a gun. 

Sal didn’t have the time to cast any sort of spell, and cursed himself for not having just sent some illusions for the work. So, he stood there, face still a façade of calm, as the first shot flew into the air and hit him.

For the second shot, Delearys was more prepared. 

She had managed to grasp the staff and, as the bullet was soaring towards her, she already had a shield shimmering around her as she held the staff high and proud. As if she were a glorious statue made of marble and nothing could hit her.

The two disappeared once more into thin air, the electric trace of magic now clearer in the air. An ambush.

As the first drops of blood fell on the ground, tainting the snow in red, a dark silhouette crumbled, the white background bright around him.

* * *

Sal was aware he was shot. Far too aware.

Pain seared in his side, brilliant, hot.

And, everyone was so  _ loud _ .

“-al Devon Archibald Van Dolion of- fuck, merciful El Roé-”

“Oh my fucking-”

“Language!”

“Oh no, oh no, no, no, no, no-”

“-at do we do now? We’re too far away from any safe house-”

“- don’t know, but, we could-”

In all of the noise a thought rang clear in Sal’s mind, enough to clear the fog that was beginning to gather.

“Heathwood-”

They were just a little south from Colderpine, they could-

“- Street, number…”

* * *

The next thing that Sal knew was that he found himself on a softer surface than the dirty floor of the van. It was also way brighter.

The funny thing about going unconscious is that it feels like not even a second has passed, until you realise that hours may have just gone by. And, that you’re just as tired, if not more, than when everything turned to black.

However, this also meant that he wasn’t dead. 

He could already hear the team beginning to make jokes about having to attend his funeral and about sorely missing him. Which he really wasn’t looking towards experiencing.

“You’re awake! How is the wound doing?”

“Oh, uh, well, I think. Still… hurts,” the words came clawing out of Sal’s throat, as the man who he had been avoiding for a month and a half appeared into view.

Sal’s face began burning from embarrassment, or maybe something else, as Alye kneeled down next to him, placing the steaming cup on the coffee table, his arm reaching for his chest, where the searing pain from the bullet still pounded. Even with embarrassment clawing at him, his own heart beating dangerously fast and the urge to swat the other’s hand away, he let him inspect the wound. 

He tried ignoring the pain in favour of observing the other. 

Since the last time he had seen him he hadn’t grown his hair much longer, although he still kept it in the tiniest of ponytails. He was wearing a soft looking sweater and boxers, and even if he looked dead tired it didn’t help with his flushed face.

_ This is my punishment for having shoved Cornelius down those stairs last week, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s because I finished Delearys’ cherry blossom yoghurt- _

“Uhm, this is probably out of the blue, but, I’m… I’m sorry about having avoided you in the past month or so,”

“That was you avoiding me? Appearing in front of the door of my apartment,  _ bleeding _ , with your entire team as confused as me, if not worse?”

“I was ready to apologise for not having come at your door before, especially if it meant seeing you in underwear, but, I guess, we can also talk about this,” murmured Sal, eyes not leaving the other as Alye sat back on the floor, fingers around the steaming cup and eyes finding their way back to him.

“We can talk about whichever topic you so desire. I’m just… I’m intrigued about the reason why you came here. I’m not surprised in you knowing my address, that’s pretty much public domain if you know where to look for,”

“I don’t know-“

“Bullshit,” answered in his cup Alye, sipping the content of the mug, and Sal couldn’t stop himself from staring at him.

“What? It’s written all over your face that you’re lying. You may be a spy, but, you tend to be really terrible at lying.”

Sal wished that the bullet had hit something more vital and that he now didn’t have to suffer through a conversation with an incredibly attractive man in boxers who was sitting next to him and that, apparently, was a lie detector.

“Alright. I’ll admit it, the first thing I did was to search for your name and your address. And, I also admit that I learnt it and didn’t even send flowers or anything, which I probably should have, now that I think about it,” Sal had long since forgone observing Alye, now trying to focus on the pain of the wound. Which even throbbing felt better than having to force himself to speak. 

“So, I knew your address and when things got confusing and… scary, one could say,” he pointed down at his chest, “we, well, they had no idea what to do. I- it was the first place that came to mind, it felt like the safest in that moment.”

Sal could feel Alye gaze piercing through him, in the way that reminds him of how a lion observed an antelope. And, then, he sighed and said:

“Well, that does answer both the questions I had,”

Soft lips, ones he hadn’t realised he had missed so dearly, pressed lightly on his, before they disappeared once more, as Alye sat back on the ground, a light flush dusting his cheeks.

“What the-“

“Wait. Did I read it wrong? I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have-“

His words died in his throat as Sal, through some strain, carefully took his hands,

“You didn’t read it wrong and, since it’s Zone of Truth hour with Sal or whatever the fuck, I feel like I must tell you that you’re-“ he made a pained sound, he wasn’t sure if it was because of the wound or because of the world he was implying, “I have a huge fucking crush on you.”

The smile that Alye offered in return was brilliant and it made being shot in the side nearly worth it.

This time, when Alye leaned down to kiss him, Sal was ready, one of his hands already holding onto the sweater, bringing him closer.

“Did you guys talk? Because the tension was-  _ goddammit _ .”

At the entrance of the corridor that gave to, what Sal presumed, being the bathroom and bedrooms, stood Cornelius. Wide eyed, with a carton of milk in his hands and clearly uncomfortable.

“Fuck. Okay. Why does it always happen to me? Do you have any bleach for my eyes? I- can you guys, like, warn me or put a sign on the door or the window? Because I came here to get some milk, since I finished the carton I had stolen, sorry not sorry about that, but now I might as well get the bleach,” began Cornelius, gesturing wildly as he did when he got nervous or uncomfortable, walking towards the kitchen and searching for the fridge.

“What are you doing here?” asked Sal, gingerly letting the sweater slip from his fingers, although he still didn’t turn his gaze from Alye.

It shouldn’t have come to him as a surprise that even if there was no mission, no lives at stake Alye was still distracting and incredibly attractive. 

“Checking to see if your boyfriend would murder you,” he shrugged, finally finding the fridge, “I picked the short end of the stick.”

“He has been doing a fairly decent job. If we don’t count him drinking all my milk and eating all my apples,” commented Alye, and Sal really hoped he hadn’t realised how bad he was blushing. However, he also found himself rather pleased to notice how he hadn’t denied them being boyfriends.

“Alright, I can see that we’re out of milk. So,” Cornelius walked to the window, opening it, “I’ll leave you two lovebirds and search for a shop.”

Before the other two could say anything, Cornelius had flung himself out of the window, still in his pyjamas.

“I- where were we?” and even though he was whispering as if someone was still in the room with them, Alye was grinning down at him wolfishly.

“I think I was about to kiss my boyfriend,” murmured Sal, tone matching quietly as if he was telling a secret. Alye’s eyes turned softer as he placed a hand on the others cheek and whispered:

“Well, can I? Kiss my boyfriend, I mean.”

“Yeah, please do,”

And, as their lips met once more, it felt like every kiss that had come prior had just been culminating to this one. As they moved closer together, even through hisses of pain from a gunshot wound, for the first time it felt like they had all had all the time in the world.


End file.
